Killer's Queen
by specsO-O
Summary: In which Blaine is a serial killer because I can. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This was posted on here under a different user name a while back, because it's really dark and I didn't want to freak out anyone who read my stuff.**

**I decided not to give a fuck, so here we go.**

**Warnings: Violence/Murder, probably bloodplay (light) and maybe BDSM-type stuff later.**

**Also there might be cannibalism, because Hannibal, but maybe not. **

**I'm open to suggestions.**

* * *

"Do you love me, Kurt?"

His fingers pause their tapping against the bottom of the thick glass panel, the panel separating him from the intense, hazel-eyed boy on the other side. He makes sure to look him dead in the eye when he answers.

"Always."

Blaine doesn't smile like he usually does when Kurt admits his feelings-which he doesn't often-, he just sits there motionless, keeping his stare unblinking. Kurt feels, well, not uncomfortable, but something close to it. He studies Blaine carefully. He's never seen this exact look, but it has enough familiar traits for him to gather that whatever's going on underneath that mop of hair is not innocent.

Not that Blaine's thoughts ever really turn out to be innocent, in most respects. Simple? Maybe. Innocent?

Never.

"What are you thinking?"

Blaine blinks, backing off the look a bit, putting back on his cool mask, the one that has most of America terrified.

The mask doesn't much scare Kurt. He's seen Blaine with several of his less pleasant expressions.

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"Why can I almost guarantee that that's a lie?"

Blaine smiles at that, his mask breaking for a quick second. He only ever smiles like that, with soft, gentle, genuine affection when he's looking at Kurt. At least Kurt's pretty sure it's the only time Blaine smiles like that. Blaine told him so, and well, Blaine's been on a streak of brutal honesty recently.

"Because you know me."

The bell rings then, the little, irritating one that Kurt both loves and hates. He loves it because it effectively ends his weekly, confusing conversations with Blaine for him, so that he doesn't have to worry about hurting Blaine's feelings by trying to end them himself.

He hates it for the same reason.

"I'll see you next week," he offers quietly. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't allowed to see Blaine every Tuesday.

Sometimes he wishes he could see him every day. It depends on whether he feels like he should want to get over Blaine or if he's let the idea go for the time being.

Blaine smirks at him a little. It's the same smirk he had when Kurt had first seen him. (He isn't sure what Blaine looked like when he'd first seen him. That happened before he introduced himself.)

"Yes. Yes you will."

Kurt shivers at his tone. It's the same tone. The one he always used before…

Before.

Blaine notices, his eyes sweeping Kurt's body hungrily.

"I still scare you, don't I?" His eyes return to Kurt's face, a small, tiny sparkle of what Kurt would like to think is regret shining amongst a blend of brown and green.

It probably isn't.

"Even through the glass I scare you, don't I, Kurt?"

"No," he answers honestly. "You don't scare me."

Blaine raises an eyebrow.

"Then what do you feel? Huh, Kurt? What do you feel when you look at me?"

Kurt pauses, taking a moment to let his own blue orbs roam across the boy sitting, waiting, on the other side of the glass.

"I don't know."

He walks away.

Blaine sits behind the glass, watching him go, following him carefully with his eyes. He'd seen one of the guards push Kurt on one of the other boy's first visits.

He'd lodged a toothbrush handle into the man's neck by noon the next day. His dental care has since been declining.

Kurt manages to leave without incident. Blaine smirks. He'd doubted the likelihood of anyone touching his boy after the toothbrush incident, but it always gave him a sense of satisfaction to know that even when imprisoned he controlled those around him.

Those other then Kurt, that is. Kurt could be heavily influenced and downright manipulated, but he was never a cut-out, someone Blaine could predict. Kurt always zigged when he thought he would zag. It was one of the things that had drawn Blaine to him.

That, and those perfect, pouty pink lips and those wide, innocent eyes held together with smooth, pale skin that showed off every little cut, bite and bruise…

He liked Kurt for a number of reasons.

"Anderson!"

He looks up, recognizing the voice and smiling politely.

"Hello, Charles."

The guard doesn't look amused. He never did though, the poor man. It must be awful to go through life without a sense of humor.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Your visitor left!"

"I have another one coming," Blaine states simply. He did. "Mr. Ryerson from Porcelain Perfection is due any moment now. I've scheduled him specifically after Kurt so I won't have to walk all the way back to my cell just to turn around and come back. There are way too many airtight doors that have to be taken care of between the two points for it to be energy efficient." He smiles winningly at the man standing over him. "We must all do our part in preserving the earth."

Charles just looks at him, slightly unnerved. Blaine allows himself a small chuckle at the larger man's reaction. You'd think that he'd have gotten used to an inmate that didn't communicate entirely through grunts and swear words, but apparently not.

The other man reaches for his radio, presumably to call for back up. Blaine sighs. He'd love to kick that damn ancient box of a radio out of Charles' meaty hand. He still has to have his feet chained to the ground because of the last time he did that.

"Yoo-hoo! Mr. Anderson! Cell block thirteen?"

Blaine grins up at Charles.

"That'd be my three o'clock. Send him on over, would you?"

To his credit, Charles lets it go. Blaine smiles. Maybe he is learning.

His business with Mr. Ryerson only takes a few minutes. He'd already had an idea of what he'd wanted, after all. Plans are kind of his thing.

"And you're sure you're comfy with charging this to a credit card? An awful lot of interest is going to be generated over two life sentences."

Blaine laughs a bit at that. So few people other than Kurt talk to him like a person and understand that this whole jail thing is a grand _joke_.

"Trust me, the money's good. Just make sure everything is exactly as I specified, on Tuesday at eleven, no sooner, no later."

"Tuesday at eleven. Got it."

"Excellent. Thank you, Mr. Ryerson."

Blaine let himself be led to his cell after that. He detested the place of course. Someone who thrives on attention like he does isn't cut out for solitary confinement.

It'll be okay though. He just has to wait until Tuesday.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** I wrote more.

Warnings: Not really anything, besides the obvious.

* * *

Blaine hated Dalton. It had its upsides, of course. His place at the school provided him with plenty of opportunities. After all, at a school like this, money and status mean power, and he has plenty of both, too much for his own good, honestly. Here, he's in charge and, well, that's his favorite thing, to be in charge. It's why he does what he does, why he's become what he's become.

That's another place where Dalton comes in handy. Dalton is, first and foremost, a reputation. People from Dalton are educated, well-behaved. Dalton boys would never sneak out to clubs and seduce innocent victims. Dalton boys would never wield a knife more comfortably than a pen. It's just not what they do. Nobody would ever suspect.

He still hates Dalton. He makes do, though. Besides, the security is severely lacking. That's why he has as many opportunities as he does.

It's his first night out in a while. He'd had a ridiculous level of trig homework lately, but Mr. Harris is going to be out tomorrow, so he can get away with skipping for tonight. He won't be able to focus until he takes the edge off anyway.

He chooses Scandals for his hunting ground tonight. He tends to frequent regular bars, since there are more of them and he's not really bias when it comes to prey, but he wants a little extra sometimes, and this is one of those times.

As soon as he gets there, he can tell something interesting is going to happen. It's in the air; he can feel it pulsating with the music, in time with the lights. Something's coming.

He knows what his instincts are all excited for as soon as he's in the bar, as soon as he lays eyes on him.

The boy is just_ precious_. He sits up tall, with good, confident posture but he's tense, so tense and Blaine can see right through it. His drink isn't alcohol, or it's at least alcohol drowned in coke, probably diet. Either he's new to the scene or he's the designated driver for someone. He's not paying much attention to the dance floor, though, so it's probably the first option. He's just sipping at his drink, taking curious peeks every now and then around the bar. Blaine smirks.

This is the boy for tonight.

He starts towards him, but then he changes his mind. There's something different about this one, something special. He wants to draw it out. Wait.

So he does, because he always does what he feels deep inside he should do, even if his brain tells him he's being an idiot. The boy could leave, or meet someone else to go home with. He could.

But he doesn't. Blaine watches him for almost an hour, and the boy doesn't move the entire time. A cute little blonde tries to chat him up and buys him a different, flashier drink, acting ridiculous and just crying out for attention. The boy just smiles at him and sends him away, laughing a bit at the pout he gets in return. The interaction sets Blaine's blood to boil.

When the boy thinks nobody's looking, his face gets serious, too serious for the average high schooler. It's interesting.

He ignores anyone who gets near him, pushing them away without hesitation but with plenty of annoyance. Eventually people start to leave him alone, but advances continue from afar. He's been sent three different drinks since he's been here, and oh, doesn't that spark an idea.

It takes fifty damn dollars to get the total dick of a bartender to cooperate, but eventually he snorts and complies, muttering something about pussies that Blaine's glad he didn't hear. It wouldn't do to lose his temper in public.

He watches the boy at the bar.

* * *

Kurt's first trip to Scandals was a nice enough one. He'd gone with Chandler, when Chandler was still the cute, flirty guy from the music store who asked him dancing.

"Hey, Mr. Garland, would you allow me the honor of buying you a beverage?"

He'd smiled and laughed, giving a small bow as Chandler grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the bar.

"So, what'll it be?" Chandler asks, grabbing a small printout and looking over the drink titles with excited eyes. Kurt shrugs.

"I don't know, what do you think?"

"Ummmm…..Do you like cherries? It has something called a 'Cherry Chaser'?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"Sounds fruity and delicious."

"Just like you, babe."

He pushes the other boy for that, but giggles along. Chandler buys that for him and gets himself something called a Penis Colada, just for an excuse to shout out the name. Kurt's embarrassed by association, but can't help nearly drowning in his own laughter all the same. A burly, leather-clad man serves them, looking them over with a wink. It's scary, but exciting to have attention from someone like him, even if he convinces himself it's just playful and not serious.

"Kurt, oh my God! Look at my straw!"

He does, and it's fortunate that he hasn't tasted his own drink yet, because he's certain he'd have ended up choking.

"You're straw is a penis. You have a penis straw."

Chandler is vibrating with glee.

"Right?! This is the most amazing place. This is the most amazing night. We should get you one, and then we'll both have them as souvenirs! Oh my God, we can make a scrapbook!"

Kurt rolls his eyes.

"That would be the most horrifying scrapbook in existence. Not only that, but if my dad found it he'd probably lock me in my room. For all eternity," he ends in a dark, dramatic voice, trying to keep his face serious.

Chandler grins, leaning his elbow on the bar and his chin in his hand.

"I bet your room would be a fabulous place to spend eternity."

"It is rather tastefully done, I must say," he admits, pretending to brush stray hairs away from his face.

Chandler laughs, scooting closer.

"Care for a dance, good sir?"

Kurt shifts his eyes to the dance floor, surveying it suspiciously. These men are….they aren't like him and Chandler. They're older, and bigger, and their eyes aren't full of promises of rainbows and puppies like Chandler, and he's pretty sure that if he were a girl he'd already be pregnant just from his proximity to the extreme grinding going on a few feet away. Chandler nudges his shoulder.

"Are you nervous?"

Kurt looks back to him, biting his lip.

"Maybe a little."

Chandler waggles his eyebrows.

"Not for long."

It takes the blonde boy about two seconds to get Kurt hyperventilating in his seat, attempting to breathe between laughter he's trying to hide. Apparently his plan for making the threat of large sweaty men less terrifying is to push his way to the center of them and flail wildly, yelling out the lyrics to some sexy song blasting through the club and ruining any of the tune's allure. (Whether or not that part's intentional Kurt couldn't say.)

It works. Kurt takes a gulp of his drink, which is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted and why hasn't he gotten another?

They dance for the remainder of their time there, which isn't long, because no way in hell is he staying out past eleven when he has a father to cook breakfast for and standards for his skin that are higher than the moon. It's fun though, especially when the other patrons laugh at their antics and occasionally join in. They only stop to sip on their drinks, and occasionally whisper about some of the cuter clientele.

When he gets home, he jumps straight into the shower. Fun as it was, the bar and dancing made him smell like Craigslist and cherries, and he couldn't let anyone figure out that he hadn't exactly been having a movie marathon with Tina.

Right before he settles down to sleep, he gets a text.

_Next Friday, Mr. Garland? Same time, same place?_

He grins, immediately texting back.

_Oh definitely. I never did get my own straw…_

* * *

It's not as fun next Friday. He ends up getting thrown into lockers nearly three times as much as usual, something about a big game in God knows what sport and how throwing around the queer was good luck. His head hurts and the pounding of the music doesn't stop, so he just drinks. He glances at Chandler every now and then, and he really is being bad company, but he's just so sad, and he can't place a finger on why.

He gets a diet coke after two of those cherry drinks, mostly because they're expensive.

He has the insane feeling of being watched, but it's probably just Chandler. He knows the other boy's worried, especially since he freaked out in the car about him being clinically depressed, but he's got the sense to give him some space.

Chandler even manages to control himself for a solid thirty minutes until he comes over, striking a suave pose and ordering them both a Penis Colada.

"You do need your souvenir, after all." He winks. The drinks come out, and Chandler yells "Suck it!" so loudly that a few men nearby hear it and make lewd comments. He pushes Chandler away, embarrassed, but he's had enough to drink that he downs it anyway, savoring the sweetness and ignoring the jeers.

"So, have I loosened you up enough to get you dancing, or do we need more illicit tropical drinks?" Chandler laughs, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kurt sighs.

"I'm sorry. I'm not any fun, am I?"

"Of course you are! I mean, generally."

Kurt rolls his eyes.

"Just go dance without me. My head hurts a bit, that's all."

Chandler immediately looks so concerned, and it really amazes him how quickly the boy can change emotions.

"Oh my God, I've totally been ignoring you! Do you want me to drive you home? Or we could go somewhere quieter?"

"There is not a place on this earth that would be quiet with you."

Chandler pouts.

"Well fine then, Captain Snarky-pants, maybe I'll just go to that Burberry sale alone. Humph!" He turns on his heel on that note, marching away playfully. Kurt chuckles, but as soon as the blonde boy is gone he's right back into his state of weird, depressed yet not. It sucks.

Ten minutes later the barkeeper, Bernie sometimes China, as he'd introduced himself, serves him up an interesting looking purple drink in a fancy glass with a few little blackberries floating on top.

"What's this?" he asks because, short of forgetting he ordered it, he can't figure out why it's being pushed into his hands. Bernie just shrugs, handing him a folded napkin before he walks off. He raises an eyebrow and unfolds it.

_Hello, beautiful._

_This is a drink of my own creation, and you have no idea how difficult it was to walk your bear of a bartender through making it. I call it a Blackbird, but I'm open to suggestions. I hope it takes your mind off whatever's bothering you. I suspect school, am I right?_

_I hope you like it. _

_-B_

His interest was caught with beautiful. He looked around the club, trying to catch the eye of whoever wrote him. He catches a few eyes, but none that he particularly wants. He's about to give up and ask Bernie when a hand covers his eyes from behind. He smiles.

"Chan, this isn't the best time."

"Is Chan your blonde friend?"

The voice is deep, more so then Chandler's, and Kurt tries to turn and look, but another arm wraps around him and holds him in place.

"Don't startle, beautiful. I just wanted to see if you liked your drink, that's all."

Kurt breathes heavily through his nose.

"You sent it to me?"

"Mmm, yeah. Do you like it?"

He can feel the man shift behind him.

"Aw, you didn't even try it, baby."

"I was preoccupied," he bites back.

"I _know_," he gloats."You wanted to find me."

"I wish I hadn't. You're creepy as hell."

"I'm not going to hurt you, angel," the man behind him says, and it's softer than before, more serious. "You don't need to be scared."

"I'm not," he insists, and the man is quiet for a minute. Kurt feels something cool and wet press at his lips, something sweet-smelling and bumpy.

"Go ahead, baby. It's just a blackberry."

Kurt opens his mouth slightly, and the man pushes the small fruit between his lips.

Kurt doesn't even realize the sound of pleasure he makes at the taste until he hears a chuckle from above.

"Is it good?"

Kurt blushes, but he's got enough alcohol in his system that he makes a decision right there to play this coy, to be _attractive._

"It's decent." His voice comes out a bit breathy, but he doesn't stutter. The man squeezes him tighter, tsking.

"You little liar," he breathes, and this breath is hot against Kurt's neck.

He can't hide the shudder that passes through him. Glass presses at his mouth, and this time he opens up willingly. The drink is silky and smooth, running over his tongue and down his throat, leaving the sweetest aftertaste. The man pours to the edge of too much, but then he sets the glass down on the bar with a small clink.

"Still just decent?" he asks.

Kurt doesn't answer. The music is becoming background noise, and he's caught up in sensation, the hand covering his eyes and the arm wrapped snug around his waist feel solid and exciting, and the drink has made him feel loose all of a sudden, his cheeks warm with his blood throbbing in his veins.

There's a weight on his head that he manages to deduce through his haze must be the man's chin. There's a shift and lips press against his hair. They stay like that for a moment, and Kurt's too relaxed to even try and shove him off. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to anymore anyway.

Eventually the man moves, bringing his mouth to Kurt's ear.

"You're so beautiful. What's your name, pretty boy?"

"Kurt," he whispers softly, and now he's slumped back against the man behind him. He doesn't care.

"Kurt."

"Yeah. Can I…what's your name?"

The man behind him tenses, Kurt's not out of it enough not to feel that.

There's a soft kiss on his neck, followed by more a few seconds later.

"Meet me here tomorrow, Kurt. Don't bring your blonde friend."

Kurt shudders as the man resumes teasing his neck, giving light little nibbles with his lips.

"W-what time?"

"I'll text you," the man dismisses him, more focused on pale skin and tiny whimpers. Kurt sighs, letting his questions go and basking in the attention. His head is so fuzzy, so, so fuzzy, but he doesn't care. He's drowning in pleasure, closing his eyes and leaning back against a solid, warm body. He's still on a barstool, but he tries the best he can to grind back, to feel that this other person is being affected at least a fraction as much as he is. He wants to be sexy, to be desired, and he_ is_, because there's heat and hardness pressing against him and _God-_

"Kurt!"

There's a yell from somewhere far, far away, and it doesn't bother him. The heat moving away from him does though.

_"No,"_ he whines, trying to hang on to the man. _His _man, damn it.

"Hush, Kurt. You'll be here tomorrow," he says softly, "or I'll come find you."

"You, y-you promise?" he pouts, swaying on the stool now that he doesn't have anything to support himself.

"Promise."

There's a kiss to his forehead, and then he's alone. He slumps down, nearly falling off the chair, but someone catches him.

"Kurt! Oh my God, Kurt, you're too hot!"

"You-you think so?" he slurs, giggling.

"Holy can't hold your liquor, Batman, how much did you drink? Kurt!"

He really does end up on the floor this time. He's about the same height as Chandler, but he's got broader shoulders and more muscles. He's a dead weight, toppling to the floor in a fit of giggles.

"Kurt? You're eyes look funny. I…are you on drugs? How did you even….did you go to the bathroom? I TOLD YOU SHADY THINGS HAPPEN IN THE BATHROOMS OF THIS TYPE OF ESTABLISHMENT! Oh, crap, you have to be home. I, Kurt, I gotta get you home. Holy crap, your dad is gonna be so pissed. I can't lie for you; I'm not good under pressure! Fuck a _duck…."_

The last thing Kurt remembers from that night is Chandler's face of pain after he tries to pull out his own hair.

* * *

The next night, Blaine returns to Scandals.

He'd been high strung all day, partly from denying himself the fun and release he'd been expecting the night before, and partly because he'd been counting down the moments until he'd be able to hold his Kurt again.

He frowns into his drink. Kurt is his; he's got complete control over the other boy's life, after all. He's just not completely sure what he wants to do with it. He'll probably know once he sees him.

The problem is, he doesn't see him. He waits in his corner until closing time, eyes never leaving the door. Kurt never shows.

* * *

**AN:** I'm really proud of my Chandler characterization and drink names.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: I feel very productive.

Warnings: The usual, mostly, with some voyeurism and very brief mention of cannibalism just for the hell of it.

Also, and I probably should have mentioned this last chapter, but as we know by now Blaine put something in Kurt's drink. It was some heavy shit, so if you are sensitive to that type of thing, you should know.

* * *

How Cleveland's Ohio State Prison manages to be both humid and freezing Blaine doubts he'll ever know. He asked once and got food thrown on him, and right before he was due to meet Kurt, too. He really does not need Kurt thinking he's got anything other than total control. He never did take care of the guy who did it, as he'd been distracted with cleaning himself at the time, and after his visit he'd been much too distracted with thoughts of his Kurt.

Maybe he can squeeze Victor Ramsey in on Tuesday…

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. No. He can't risk Tuesday.

"Anderson!"

He's been expecting a call, so he doesn't ignore the guard like he usually does. He typically refuses to acknowledge anyone other than Charles, simply because it unnerves the man, but this is much too important.

It takes them five fucking minutes to get him to the damn phone, but he's gotten used to their inefficiency by now, so much that it's only a minor annoyance at this point.

He glares at the oaf who thrusts the phone roughly into his hands, before taking a deep breath and adopting a smile. If it's who he thinks it is, he'll be much more frustrating this way.

"Hello?"

"Listen you fucking little bastard, you stay the hell away from my boy."

Blaine's smile becomes more genuine at the angry whisper.

"Mr. Hummel," he greets pleasantly. "I see Kurt got his present."

There's yelling on the other line, a lot of it, and he can pick out Burt and Finn each. There's a few other boys too, ones he can't recognize. He can feel himself getting annoyed. The yelling goes on for a minute, and he can hear the phone be grappled over. He sighs, holding the phone away from his ear with distaste. With one final pass the yelling increases and a door slams.

"Blaine?"

He smiles. There's his boy, soft but undeniably angry.

"Hey, sweetheart. I missed you."

"Why is my father screaming at you over the phone?"

He laughs a little. Straight to the point, as always.

"They didn't give you your present, then? I put a lot of effort into that."

He can almost hear the trepidation in Kurt's voice as he answers.

"What was it?"

* * *

The first present Blaine sends is nothing special.

He goes to that florist on Cadence Avenue, the one within the lovely old house that has a crappy inside. There's a metaphor in that, and he's always been fond of metaphors.

The flowers are simple, purples and whites and deep red.

He gets them to put in some blackberries.

* * *

Kurt woke up after his night at Scandals in a bed that definitely isn't his.

His head is throbbing and his body feels fuzzy and he can't figure out why, just knows that he feels funny and then heaves over, emptying his stomach.

When he sits up is when he realizes that the deep blue sheets he's tangled in aren't his. He panics, trying to scramble out, but he just ends up tripping himself and ending up on the floor, his head pounding even more.

Burt hears the fall from just outside the door, where he keeps lingering despite Carol's insistence that he's just putting stress on his heart by doing so.

He finds his son on the floor, and he'd been planning to yell and bang pots around like his parents did when he'd come home wasted. Kurt's face, though, it's not right.

"Buddy?"

Kurt looks up at him, eyes watering, and he's much too weak because he doesn't think he can yell when the kid looks like that.

"Dad?" he asks, and shit, he sounds like he's about to cry. "Daddy, I don't know what happened."

Now he is crying, and it's so unlike him that something that blonde punk with the stupid hat that came stumbling through the door at two o'clock in the morning with his only child giggling and falling over had said before he'd gone for his rifle and the kid took off.

_I think someone might have maybe drugged him._

He'd been pissed at Kurt for drinking so much, but it was starting to look like something else might be going on. He's not sure if he prefers this over the kid developing alcoholism or not.

It doesn't take him too long to transfer him down the stairs and to the couch in the living room. The kid can't even walk, so he has to carry him, and won't he get an earful for that later.

Your heart dad. Your back dad. Overly concerned little shit, he thinks fondly. It's going to get annoying dealing with that 24/7, since Kurt is never leaving the house again.

Ever.

* * *

Kurt doesn't regain his senses until nearly nine o'clock that night. It's been a day of tears, hallucinations, and an extremely awkward few minutes in which he's refused to let go of Sam. Burt doesn't know what to make of it exactly, but he's lost his anger for Kurt (which he realizes is stupid because the kid was obviously somewhere he shouldn't be, but they can talk about that later) and redirected it to that blonde kid and whatever complete dipshit that had tried to prey upon his little boy.

He still watches carefully as Kurt sits in on whatever videogame Finn and Sam are playing, trying to see if he'll say something about the ordeal. He wouldn't hear about anything Kurt remembered if he didn't hover.

"'M not sure if it was some date-rapey thing that you had a bad reaction to, or some horrible mixture of ecstasy and cocaine or what, but it wasn't good, dude," Finn mumbles from around a mouthful of twizzlers.

"It wasn't that bad," Sam offers. "Except for the part where you kinda molested me."

"Oh, God, say I didn't," Kurt pleads, and Sam looks down.

"Well, it was mostly a lot of hair action, because you didn't have the control to work my jeans open."

Kurt just buries his face in his hands and makes a sad little sound.

"Please tell me I didn't do anything else."

They're quiet for a minute, until Finn breaks the silence with a solemn voice.

"There was a lot of back and forth, between you being all cuddly and sensical-"

"Sensual," Sam mutters under his breath.

"-and screaming, like in a horror movie."

"Let's just say your dad had the right idea when he soundproofed your room," Sam says. "You almost had a breakdown, you know."

"Yeah, once you started freaking out you wouldn't shut up unless either he was holding you or you went all bipolar and decided to try deducing Sam."

Kurt's too busy being horrified to correct him.

"Don't worry," Sam assures the moment he sees the look on Kurt's face. "I was the only one you tried to seduce, so nothing gross and incesty happened." He smiles, probably trying to be comforting. "If I was gay I'd so bang you, if that helps."

It really, really doesn't, but Kurt says thank you anyway.

* * *

Kurt goes to bed soon after, torn between humiliation and fear. Someone did this to him.

He tries to think back to the bar now that he's alone in the quiet with his right mind. He doesn't have the most confidence in many of the patrons, but he does of Bernie, and he can't think how anyone could have done this to him. Chandler had been the only one to handle his…

Oh.

_There's a tight arm around his waist, and hot breath on his neck. He feels like he's floating, flying, and then it all goes blank._

B.

But he couldn't have, could he? He didn't make the drink, Bernie had.

But, his mind supplied, he did pour it down your throat while keeping you blindfolded.

God, he's so stupid. And naive.

And he's pretty sure he threw up in Chandler's Kia.

His eyes pop open.

Chandler. Shit, his dad probably tried to kill him.

It takes him forever to find his phone. He doesn't want to know why it's on top of the coat rack by the stairs, but it is. It's almost out of battery when he gets it, but there are six new messages.

_Kurt! Ok, ONE, you did not tell me your father is a mirror image of Neapolitan Mastiff, and TWO, you better not die. _

_Since you're an angel, you wouldn't gain anything from going to heaven. And I'd miss you._

_And you live with too many large men who would track me down and shoot me. _

-Chandler, 12:37 AM

_Seriously though, don't die. LY!_

-Chandler, 12:38 AM

He smiles. Chandler always makes him smile. He scrolls through the other messages. One's from Mercedes, freaking out because apparently Sam can't keep his mouth shut.

The other three are from a blocked number.

_8:00 tonight. Scandals. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 3:17 PM

_Kurt, baby, you really don't want to ignore me. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 9:37 PM

_Alright, angel, I'll play. Just don't expect to win. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 10:03 PM

He just stares at the phone. He thinks he can recall something about his mystery man promising to text before running off, but he can't be sure.

He knows he shouldn't encourage this, he really does. He should call Chandler, apologize for whatever he did and let himself be drowned in musical references and compliments. _Actually_, what he should do is show someone the texts and get to the bottom of this mess. Sam could probably trace the number; he knows all sorts of complicated computer stuff, something about being a spy.

He texts B instead.

_How'd you get my number?_

-Sent at 11:09 PM

_You were a little out of it, sweetheart. ~B_

-BLOCKED, 11:11 PM

He can feel anger rise up in his throat.

_Besides, I had to contact you to tell you about our date, which you did not attend._

-BLOCKED, 11:12 PM

_Perhaps I'd have been able to reject you earlier and save your time if you hadn't drugged me._

-Sent at 11:14 PM

_It would have saved a tank of gas. I hope you know there is a hole in the ozone layer that is a bit bigger just because of you._

-BLOCKED, 11:15

_Joking aside, I am very upset about this. I don't like having my time wasted, Kurt._

-BLOCKED, 11:16

Kurt shudders at that one. This man, B he supposes, just goes from light-hearted to cold in a minute, probably less. It's nerve-wracking.

_Then I'll quit wasting it._

-Sent at 11:19 PM

* * *

Blaine's been sitting in his car for over an hour when Kurt finally bothers to remember about him.

Kurt's house is really very nice for a public school student. Why he hasn't been sent to Dalton like every other well-to-do boy in a decent proximity is a mystery. Daddy must be self-made, probably one of the good ol' American boys.

It's going to be delightful fucking with him.

Blaine decided during their conversation to screw around with this one. He's more clear-headed now that he's had time to consider the situation and it's the logical conclusion. He'd long ago decided to keep from getting involved with a kill, but Kurt is worth it. Yeah, he'd been pissed, hell, way, way more than pissed- when Kurt blew him off, but with the help of a little stress relieving throat cutting, he's talked himself out of setting the boy's house on fire.

He's a sassy little bitch, but Blaine appreciates that. Kurt is _fun_.

And he's getting shit for his sexuality. It'll be so, so easy to make his death look like a suicide. He won't have the fun of cutting him all up-

_God, he'd look so pretty, that pale skin against the dark red blood_

-but this could be a brand new kind of torture. If Kurt falls for him, which, you know, he _will_, then he'd never see it coming. He'd trust Blaine with his life and not until the last moment would he realize that Blaine is the last person he should trust with his anything.

The look of betrayal on his face would be perfect.

Blaine wonders how they should meet. Well, how they'll meet _again_, but it'll feel different. He could enroll at McKinley, but he already has a hard time not slaughtering the idiots at Dalton. He'd go crazy trying to keep from killing the little mullet sporting shits.

The light comes on in one of the top floor bedrooms and, bless the various Norse gods, it must be Kurt's room.

He looks upset, pacing back and forth, and Blaine's fairly certain that's his phone in his hand. His suspicions are confirmed when Kurt chucks it across the room before running his hands through his hair.

Blaine sits up straighter the moment he realizes Kurt's just grabbed a pair of clean pajamas. The boy in the window unbuttons his jeans and begins to tug up his shirt, and Blaine just might have made it to heaven.

"Isn't he gorgeous, John?" he asks the occupant of his passenger's seat. "Just look at him," he says, turning the man's face so that Kurt's window is directly in front of his face.

He wishes he's brought binoculars, because _Kurt's_ pretty face is difficult to see from his vantage point.

But then Kurt's head snaps towards the door and he nods before leaving the room.

"Damn," Blaine mutters, slouching back in his seat. He'd have liked to see if Kurt's arms looked as good as they'd felt.

And he'd have _loved_ to see that virgin ass he's got, waiting to receive it's first cock.

"Oh well," he sighs. "You win some and you lose some, right, John?"

He turns to his passenger.

"You know," he says casually. "I'm glad we met, Jonny. You really helped clear my head." He grins at the body.

"Kurt owes you a boyfriend."

* * *

The prison is loud, but Blaine can clearly make out his boy's voice on the other end of the line. Hell, he can even make out the banging on whatever door Kurt's locked to keep their conversation private.

"Blaine, please stop with the presents."

"Why? You love presents."

"Not if they're inappropriate and you use them to harass my father."

"Daddy doesn't want you in a thong?"

"It isn't funny, Blaine!" Kurt sighs. "Look, Blaine," he whispers. "They don't know about me seeing you, and if they find out I'll never get to talk to you again. Please don't ruin this."

"I'd never let anything ruin us," Blaine assures softly. "I'll send something nice next time."

"_No_, Blaine," Kurt insists, exasperated. "Don't send anything at all."

"Why shouldn't I give you things, Kurt?" Blaine argues. "It's not like I have anything better to do with my money."

"It upsets them."

"You care about them too much," Blaine says with a huff. "You never even try to stand up for me."

"You fed them _people_!"

"They were _quality_ people."

Kurt hangs up the phone and Blaine swears at him, more violently then he usually would, but he is just about had enough of Kurt's 'family values' shit. All the boy thinks about is pleasing daddy and his dumbass step-brother.

Why should they get so much attention? Kurt is _his_ goddamn angel, and who else could possibly take better care of him? Did either of those overly-burly bastards ever kill for him? He doesn't think so!

He'd have gotten rid of them long ago if he didn't think Kurt would never forgive him for it.

He takes a deep breath.

It's cool. Kurt will get over them eventually; Blaine will fuck him until he forgets about everyone else, even if it takes days, _years_.

He'll _make_ Kurt see who he should be worried about pleasing.

"So, Anderson," Charles says pleasantly. "How's Kurt doing?"

"Bite me, Charles." He resists the urge to kick the table in front of him. "Fucking bite me."

* * *

AN: I am quickly coming to adore Charles. And shout out to everyone who's reviewed, because you guys are freaking sweethearts.

Sweethearts who read about murderers.

My kind of people.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I was away in a no wifi hellhole called Waycross, Georgia. Sergeant Doakes is from there, which was kind of cool, but the novelty wore off after about six seconds.

But now I'm back, and oh look, a teensy bit of Kurt angst and some Blaine musings. Always interesting.

* * *

Kurt lies on his bed, clutching Blaine's letter to his chest. He'd managed to snatch both it and one of the pairs of underwear before his father had gotten the chance to burn it.

The letter was classic Blaine, lots of sweet talk mixed with the occasional slip of darkness where he suggested what all he'd do to him if they were together.

It almost makes him sick to think of the thrill some of those dirty little promises give him. And the compliments and the love declarations, they make him feel special, and from a guy like Blaine, they really are.

Because he's the only one Blaine has ever said this stuff to.

He feels kind of bad for hanging up on Blaine the other day, and he has no doubt that the other boy will remember and insist on some form of punishment.

He feels even sicker when he finds himself wanting to purr happily at the thought.

His dad was right; Blaine really has gotten in his head.

_But maybe_, his mind whispers, _you were already messed up. Maybe you can't let go of Blaine because he's the only person you know who's more messed up than you._

He rolls onto his side so he can stuff the letter and underwear beneath his mattress; he'll stash them with his other Blaine-related things later.

Right now he just wants to nap and forget about how devastated his father would be if he knew.

* * *

Kurt loves his dad; he really does.

But if he doesn't to convince the man to unhand him he's going to be late for school.

"I promise, dad, nobody is going to drug me in the cafeteria."

"You're not going."

"What if I miss a test? Do you want me to fail high school?"

"New York is dangerous."

"Dad," Kurt says, completely unimpressed.

"Fine," Burt huffs. "But make sure you eat lunch with Finn."

Kurt glares at him.

"Or Sam! Just no strangers."

_"Really?"_

Burt ignores him and finally goes to prepare for work.

"Take the lunch I made you!"

Kurt almost trips backing up.

"You made me lunch?"

"Is there something wrong with that?" Burt asks defensively.

"You haven't done that since I was eight," Kurt says dryly. "And you were so terrible at it that you only did it for a week."

"Not my fault you wouldn't eat a damn sandwich," Burt grumbles.

"I don't like mayonnaise!"

Burt's face falls. Kurt closes his eyes and sighs, praying for patience.

"Did you make me something with mayonnaise?"

"I'll make something else."

Kurt shakes his head and steps over, embracing his father in a tight hug.

"I'll be fine."

* * *

Blaine takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to forget today. It was nothing different than usual, but every now and again it gets to him, the harshness of this place.

Blaine is not a softie. He's got the strength to drag three hundred pounds of dead weight over the side of a boat if he wants. He can take a damn punch and he's been known to skin people. Softies don't skin people.

So he isn't some whiny bitch.

He just really misses his house.

He's used to nice things, okay? He likes his silk sheets and his heated floors and his garden tub. So what if he wants to rip his hair out at this point, since he doesn't get to wash it well enough for it not to feel greasy?

That doesn't make him less of a badass, no matter what Charles implies.

He stops himself from muttering about the guard. He'll hear him and make fun of him and Blaine really isn't in the mood.

Instead, he lets himself daydream. He tries not to, because it's really damaging to his image for someone to pass by and see him lying around with a dopey smile on his face, but he'll be out of here soon enough.

He thinks about Kurt.

He imagines surprising Kurt, coming home early from a business trip, bearing flowers and a grin. Kurt's so delighted. He kisses Blaine and smiles, but smacks him on the back of the head for not telling him he was coming. It's okay though.

He wants to take Kurt out to dinner, but the other boy says they should order in for now, because Blaine is tired and could use a shower. So he calls in Chinese, and Kurt joins him in his shower to wash his hair for him.

It's always better when Kurt washes his hair.

Sometimes, he wishes Kurt would have picked up a knife during those last few weeks. He wishes he could have been labeled an accomplice, so Blaine could have him here. Kurt would hate prison, but that would only have motivated Blaine think their way out more quickly. Besides, he'd have looked after him. Nobody would be stupid enough to touch the boy who'd get labeled as Blaine Anderson's prison twink.

Blaine frowns and ignores the fact that he's almost definitely the size and shape that would be considered a twink. He rationalizes that his personality overrides that. Plus he likes to think he's too masculine in the face to be delicate enough to earn that title.

He should ask Kurt once he gets out. He'd probably get an honest answer.

And if Kurt gives the wrong opinion then it can all be rationalized as the boy trying to get a nice rough fucking. Kurt likes that, not as much as he does the candles and whispered love declarations thing, but still. He'd probably have to wait on that sort of stuff anyway, because as much as Blaine wants to make him feel cherished or whatever, he's been in this shithole for months, and he's too much of a gentleman to cheat.

Except he has lower standards than Kurt when it comes to that, so maybe he did a few times.

But that was for Kurt's own good, so it's probably okay. It's not like he ever gave a fuck about Eli or Sebastian or those two pieces of shit that followed Kurt around, thinking they might get some.

His dick didn't go up anyone's ass. He'd never risk some slut infecting him with some gross STD that could potentially make its way to Kurt. First off, Kurt would probably never let Blaine touch him again, and secondly, Burt Hummel would definitely keep Kurt locked up like freaking Rapunzel.

But yeah, if Kurt had been here to keep him company then he wouldn't be so wound up with nothing to do but daydream, fuck with Charles, and have the occasional chat with one of the less stupid inmates.

His face scrunches a bit once he realizes how far his mind has wandered from that original little fantasy. Not that it was the best one he's ever thought up, considering how creative he could be, but it was still nice to imagine a future that didn't involve hiding out in shitty motel rooms.

He'd have to figure a way out of that; Kurt deserved better, and quite frankly he did as well. He's done a lot more good than bad, not that anyone's noticed.

They'd have to move out of the states though, but that could be nice. Kurt would enjoy living in France or Italy, somewhere romantic like that.

Hannibal Lector hid out in Italy for _years_, and he maintained a high standard of living.

It would be hard to decide the living situation. Kurt would want an apartment in a city, or maybe a quaint village, but Blaine had really wanted to get something roomy enough for children and an office, possibly two if Kurt kept up with his career aspirations.

And contrary to the typical serial killer, he liked animals. Apartments wouldn't allow him the amount of dogs and cats he'd like.

But maybe Kurt wouldn't want animals?

Blaine considered what he'd do if that was the case. Kurt had been terrified of Chance and Gunnar, but he seemed like a cat person anyway.

And in all fairness, Blaine's gathered that most people would get a little nervous if a German Sheppard and a Pitt Bull kept staring at them and growling.

Also Chance tried to jump him, but that's just German Sheppard instinct. They can be a little snappish.

It didn't matter, because in the long run he knew he'd convince Kurt to see it his way. If he's willing to let Kurt, you know, leave the fucking house, then Kurt can deal with a bit of furry friends.

They should get a rustic little farm, or a vineyard. Yeah, definitely a vineyard. Blaine's father grew up on one, and he seemed to look back on his childhood with fond memories. His and Kurt's kids should have that.

They'd been at odds about the number, but he bet if he got Kurt somewhere with a family feel he could convince him to go over his limit of three.

They need a bunch, in case Blaine accidentally screws some of them up.

He sits up when he hears footsteps, and smiles when Charles comes into view.

"Hey, Big C," he calls. "What do you think of the name Melody?"

* * *

Kurt first met him a few weeks after the missed bar date.

Blaine had been keeping an eye on the other boy, of course, but it had been time. Driving to Lima and sitting in his car by Kurt's window had become very time consuming and gas wasting. He has to keep the motor running, since it's winter in Ohio and he's honestly a bit cold blooded.

Well, isn't that just devastatingly appropriate.

He'd begun planning to 'run into' Kurt at the mall, and maybe pay for his stuff if he could catch him at a register.

Then again daddy probably keeps Kurt's wallet full, so the other boy might just wave it off. They seem to hang out a lot, so Blaine's going to assume for now that Kurt's a daddy's boy.

Most people might never think of that, but Blaine goes to Dalton. He knows several.

After all, Mr. Hummel doesn't have a daughter to spoil and from what he can tell, Kurt is the closest he's got.

He wonders if the other boys in the house get jealous.

Anyway, that had been the semi-thought out plan. But then, in some lucky, crazy random happenstance, Kurt came to him.

The Warblers were doing a show at a little coffee shop owned by Trent's brother that was, quite conveniently, only twenty minutes or so from Lima. With the most perfect timing Blaine could think of, Kurt walked in just as he was about to start his solo. (Well, one of his solos, but Teenage Dream was pure gold when it came to snagging an inexperienced, idealistic boy like Kurt.)

He sings, and smiles, and kept glancing at the pretty blue eyes that were focused solely on him.

_God_, he loved when people focused solely on him.

Most of the time.

He hopes he didn't frown while he was thinking that.

When the song ends, Blaine is quick to announce a short break. He hadn't cleared it with the Council, but he doubts they'd object.

He had smiles and nods as people congratulate him for being a near flawless human being- So handsome! What a singer! –and makes his way over to Kurt, who is sitting with a group Blaine hadn't bothered to notice before.

He frowns at the percentage of boys there, especially the little blonde one who's practically in his lap. He recognizes him from the bar. Chan, Kurt had called him.

He didn't appreciate the way the boys who lived with Kurt (brothers or cousins, he supposes) were smiling at Chan, or the way the girls were looking at the two like they were goddamn William and Kate or something.

Fuck, the blonde one wasn't even that hot. Cute, Blaine will admit that, but not the kind of cute that would put Kurt in his league.

It's ironic, he supposes, that Chan is the one who first notices him.

"Hi," he says, perky and cheerful and Blaine wants to stab him. "Are you another one of Kurtsie's friends?"

The girls giggle and Kurt slaps him on the shoulder before he even looks at Blaine.

"Don't call me that," he says, half serious.

Thank Holmes that when he finally looks up, Blaine can see his breath catch in his throat.

He'd been starting to get annoyed.

"I'm Blaine Anderson," Blaine says. Sometimes the direct approach is the best approach. "And your name is Kurt?" he asks, like he doesn't already know.

"Kurt Hummel."

"Yeah," the tall brother/cousin/who gives a fuck interjects. "That's Kurt, and I'm Finn, and this is Sam," he said, gesturing to the blond brother/cousin/who gives a fuck. "We're his brothers," he says matter of factly, before faltering a little at the questioning look a few of the people around the table give him. "Almost."

"Nice to meet you," Blaine responds politely, barely glancing away from Kurt.

"And that's Chandler," Finn continues. "Kurt's boyfriend."

"We aren't boyfriends," Kurt says, turning to frown at him before taking a quick glance at Chandler, who grins back and shrugs. As soon as Kurt turned back to Blaine, Chandler's smile dropped a little.

"You aren't?" Blaine repeats, smiling when Kurt nods in affirmation. "Well, in that case," he reached inside his blazer and pulled out the Warblers' business card. "Maybe you could call me."

Kurt's shocked face is worth the bus ride he had to endure with the Warblers.

"My number's on there, since I'm the lead soloist," Blaine offers. "And," he continues a little cautiously, "maybe I could have yours?"

"Of course," Kurt says, still a little shell-shocked, but he recovers eventually and smiles, a little excited and a little shy. Blaine calls over a Warbler, Aaron, and asks for a sharpie, smiling as he rushes off to get one.

Blaine just stares at Kurt while they wait. He's blushing, just a little, and for some reason Blaine kind of wants to copy him.

He's never blushed before.

When Aaron gets back Blaine hands Kurt the marker and pulls up his own sleeve. Kurt gets it, scooting a little to the edge of his chair and taking Blaine's wrist as he looks up at him with a small smile. He writes down his digits and Blaine grins when they're the real deal. He knows Kurt's number, and for a minute he'd worried that Kurt might put a fake one. That might have pissed him off enough to make him drop the charm.

"Thank you," Blaine says politely. He brushes a stray hair from Kurt's forehead and fixes his jacket. It's a cute jacket, navy. It's almost a copy of the Dalton one, actually.

Maybe, before he kills him, he could get Kurt to play school boy for him. Glancing at those lips, Blaine knows it might be a bit before he actually gets Kurt under a knife. He could get used to having such a pretty pair of lips at his disposal.

"I'll call you," Kurt says softly.

"Promise?" Blaine asks playfully.

"Promise."

* * *

Kurt's in his room, sitting on his bed propped back against the pillows. He's been staring at his phone for the past half hour.

What if Blaine Anderson doesn't pick up, and he has to leave a message?

What if Blaine Anderson goes out with him and decides he doesn't like him?

"Hey, Kurt?" Finn calls from his doorway, interrupting his thoughts. "You want to watch America's Got Talent? Me and Burt figured we could all watch it without anyone being bored, 'cause it's got like, opera singers and dancers, but also dogs and magicians and badass guys who pull stuff around with their eyelids."

Kurt only just manages to repress a shudder.

He'd still kill to see it in person, though.

"Are you thinking about calling that Blaine guy?" Finn asks suddenly, glaring at his phone.

"Maybe," Kurt answers carefully. "He was really nice."

He was also really, really cute, and looked at Kurt like he wanted to eat him.

He liked that in a man.

"I don't like him," Finn says. "He seems like a pervert."

"Finn!"

"It's true," the larger boy insists. "Didn't you see the way he looked at you?"

Oh, yes, yes he did.

"He's polite and very handsome."

"He's got a creepy fake smile."

"I _like_ his smile. And what makes you so sure it was fake? Maybe he likes me."

"I'm not saying it's weird for someone to like you," Finn says, rolling his eyes. "I just think he's probably a serial killer. All the rich, handsome, creepy-smiling guys are, Kurt."

"Blaine is not a serial killer," Kurt exclaims, giving Finn his best 'what the hell is wrong with you?' look. Finn glares at the phone in Kurt's hand some more, but he drops the subject.

"Are you gonna watch TV with us or not?" he asks after a moment.

Kurt glances at his phone, but ends up sighing and letting it flop on his mattress.

"Let's go."

* * *

AN: So there you have it. We've had a look inside Blaine's head and their first (official) meeting. What fun.

Kurt will be pretty angsty at some points, because his life has got to be fucking stressful with all of Blaine's 'homicidal tendencies' shit.

Also Finn obviously has some damn good instincts.

Tell me what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I'm introducing a character who will probably have a decently sized role. **

**Warning: I did not check this one over as much as the others.**

**And, in case it's a bit questionable, the first and third parts are present-day, and the others are flashbacks. (By the way, once something significant happens later, the flashbacks will probably stop going in order. The plan is to have the randomness start right after the moment Blaine knows he's in love.)**

* * *

Blaine's waiting for a call. Because he is waiting, time has stopped.

It'll be from his spy, because what? He'd really let Kurt live unsupervised?

Hell no.

His spy wasn't really his first choice, wasn't much of a choice at all, but at least he was loyal. Loyalty can't be bought.

But it can be found in the most annoying of people.

He remembers that phone call.

* * *

"Hey, Blainey-bear," a voice softly coos at him as soon as he puts the phone to his ear.

Blaine glares at Charles. He knows damn good and well that Blaine doesn't want to talk.

"Hello, Cooper," he says back blankly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, little buddy," Cooper says. "Just worrying about you."

"Why?"

It's best to just humor him when he gets like this.

"Because you're in jail!" Cooper exclaims, and Blaine can just see him flailing or jumping around. "You could get beat up, or shanked, or killed, or, or even ass-raped!"

"I'm fine, Cooper. I promise."

God, he does not have the patience for this.

"But you're little, and an Anderson," Cooper argues. "We are _gorgeous_. Granted, I'm really more widely appealing –it's the black hair blue eyes combo, very rare- but you're pretty too."

And he's done. He'll end up throwing the phone if he has to listen to more of this shit, and then he won't have fucking 'phone privileges', and he needs to be able to call Kurt if he wants.

"Well, I'm glad you called, but I really have to-"

"No," Cooper almost shouts. "No. Come on, we never talk."

"Well it's not like I could come by your place for a fucking potluck, Coop. I only get a specific amount of calls a week." His eyes flick over to Charles, and the man shrugs. It's not like he made up the rules.

If he had, Blaine wouldn't have a limit, because he'd have assumed that there wouldn't be people willing to talk to him.

But no, he ends up having to turn down callers, because apparently Blaine's antics in the courtroom were a real crowd-pleaser. Oh, he's such a lost soul. Oh, he's just a poor, misunderstood boy. And oh, he's so hot, o-m-fucking-g.

Charles has little faith in humanity.

"I understand, little brother," Cooper says with a sigh. "I know you're probably hoarding your time for Kurt." There's just one beat, and then that cheerful, pleased voice is back. "Do you guys have phone sex? Are you allowed to? Kurt's got to be desperate for it! Is he still under that little rule –I think it was three or something on the list I found that he made me promise not to show anyone-, or did you let him off? But he looks pretty wound up, so even if you did I think he might be doing it out of habit. I know girls I date tend to try and keep up with everything after we're through, because you'd want to hold onto the memories of someone so sexually talented, so if he is still doing it, then that's kind of a compliment, so-"

"Cooper, Cooper, COOPER!" Blaine finally has to yell to get his attention.

"What?"

That innocent fucking tone, god Blaine wants to put him in a noose sometimes.

But he's _family_.

Kurt wanted him to try and rebuild his relationship with the only person he had left. He thought it would be therapeutic or whatever, to bond with someone else who survived the fire.

"Are you humming Fall Out Boy?" Cooper asks suddenly.

Right. Blaine had forgotten he was there.

"You've seen Kurt?" Blaine questions, ignoring the question completely.

"Oh, yeah," Cooper says. "I kinda check up on him every now and then, see how he's doing, you know? He's a sweetheart, and I liked you a lot better when you were around him, so I thought, 'hey, I should be like a guardian angel and look after him when Blaine isn't here, because it'd kill him if something happened', and it's been going pretty well."

"What have you seen?"

"Nothing, really; he's kind of boring, when you dismiss the fact that he's sort of dating the most notorious murderer of the decade-"

"He is dating me," Blaine grinds out. "There's no 'sort of'."

"Okay, sorry, whatever," Cooper says dismissively. "But as I was saying, he doesn't really do much. His dad kind of hangs over him, so it's not like he goes out, and I don't think he has many friends to go out with. There's the stepbrother and the blonde kid –they're always nice to him-, and then a couple of Asians and the stepbrother's girlfriend. I think the Mohawk guy plays a role in keeping the whispers and meaness and whatever to a minimum, but I don't think he's really a friend. Oh, and some goth kids kind of follow him around, but they're fucking creepers and Kurt has better taste than to hang out with them, I think."

"Are people bothering him?" Blaine asks tightly.

"He isn't getting beat up or anything, probably because everyone's scared of him, but dude, the entire country is talking about him. There are people who think he's a killer, and people who think he's an idiot, and people who shout at the other ones to shut up because Kurt didn't have anything to do with it. It's calmed down a little, but shit was crazy when you first got busted. Paparazzi followed him everywhere.

Your notoriety got me some good publicity, actually, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to be cast in something huge. They want to make a movie about you, and there's no way they can turn down your actual brother, so I might even get to direct, and I have a fanclub because my face got out and obviously people liked it. Man, I meant to tell you this earlier, but I was watching some prison documentaries, trying to get more of a feel for the potential character-"

"You mean me?"

"-and they were so awful that I thought 'no way is this happening to Squirt', but I thought I should check and we ended up talking about Kurt, who is fine, except he's a little sad and up tight and humiliated, and after that the conversation just got way off topic somehow."

He's not even going to bother.

"Thank you," Blaine says anyway. "It was nice of you to check up on me, and thank you for watching Kurt. Try and get a little more involved in his life, if you can. I need inside information."

"Doesn't he visit you?"

"He's a little liar."

Cooper obviously picks up on the venom in his voice.

"Wait, no! Are you mad at him now? Because I haven't actually been talking to him, and you always say I'm overdramatic! You can't break up with him, little man, because he's made you so much nicer than before."

"I'm not going to break up with him Cooper, calm down," Blaine says in annoyance, rubbing at his temples. This is how he always ends up after talking to Cooper.

"Oh. So you're not mad."

"No, I'm mad as fuck," Blaine admits. He's so tired of having to explain things. "But he lies sometimes, and I know how to handle it."

"How?"

"It's none of your business how!" Blaine snaps.

"Are you gonna spank him? Wait, no, you're in jail. Do you want _me_ to spank him? Because it'd be cool because we're family and I like girls and-"

"I swear to fucking god, Cooper, if you go anywhere near his ass-"

"Okay, okay! I was just trying to be nice."

"What the fuck is wrong with you that you consider that nice?"

"I don't…you kill people!"

Well. He's got him there.

"Just keep an eye on him and don't touch him."

"Right, sure, I got your back."

"Thank you."

"But if you would just explain some stuff on the rule list and how you enforce it, it'd be really helpful with my characterization-"

"Goodbye, Cooper."

He hangs up before he can get dragged into any more of his brother's nonsense.

It was helpful though, in its own way.

Now he knows that Kurt's been lying to him and needs to be punished.

He also knows that he has no idea how to punish him.

* * *

"How's Kurt been?"

"He's good. We were just talking about you, actually."

"Is he with you?"

"Nah, his dad hates me and kicked me out when he caught me hanging out with him and Sam."

See, and Cooper's never done anything, so it just proves that Burt Hummel has a vendetta against anyone who's ever been near him.

"Well, what did he say about me?"

"Oh, it was so cute! I brought those pictures of us when we were little at the park –you know, to prove that you're naturally not that bad-, and he said that was the park where you had one of your first dates, and he wouldn't really say anything more, but you could see in his eyes that he was picturing it. He'd make a good actor, you know. His face is very expressive."

"I know."

Kurt's always been like that.

"But actually, Blainers, I have to leave for an audition in like, two seconds –I have a really good shot, because I'm going to play you and obviously nobody knows you better than me and Kurt, and Kurt's told me stuff so I'm totally prepared-, and I just wanted to tell you that all is well. Also I was sly and got Kurt to explain the rules to me. Later!"

Blaine doesn't bother saying goodbye or wishing him well. Kurt probably baked him muffins or some shit in honor of the big day.

That sounds like something he'd do.

Kurt likes muffins. Blaine remembers, because that was the first thing they found out they had in common.

They'd had them on their first date.

* * *

Their first date went as Blaine had expected. There were shy glances and cute smiles; there was tentative hand holding and sweet compliments designed to make Kurt blush.

God, does Blaine love the color red.

They'd gotten coffee and muffins that Blaine had to convince Kurt to let him pay for.

Now that was a bit of a surprise. In his experience, people love it when he buys them something. Though, being surrounded by the rich boys of Dalton, sometimes there would be little arguments over who'd pay for what. It was some kind of masculinity competition or something; Blaine never really understood why you'd turn down getting things you wanted for free.

But it wasn't like that with Kurt. He'd been a little uncomfortable, almost guilty, when Blaine had insisted on paying. It wasn't the challenging objections with Kurt, but more of a shy 'are you sure?' type thing.

It had sort of been cute.

And when Blaine had pulled out his chair for him, Kurt's voice was all surprised, kind of shaky.

You know, it'd been a while since anybody seemed to genuinely appreciate all of the effort he puts into things.

They hadn't known what to say at first. Kurt mentioned how pretty the snow was, and Blaine pointed out that the coffee shop smelled like cinnamon. Kurt told Blaine that he liked his Dalton uniform, and Blaine said he hated it with a passion.

Then they quit trying, and for a moment they listened to the hustle and bustle of the people in the shop, and the whir of the coffee grinder in the background.

"This is a good muffin," Blaine had said.

"Most muffins are good muffins," Kurt had replied, and somehow that seemed to make everything okay.

It'd been a nice date, and that fact alone was enough to make Kurt a novelty.

* * *

The second date had been the problem. He didn't slip up and exclaim his preference for amputated limbs over attached ones or anything, and Kurt wasn't being difficult.

No, it'd been going quite well. They were having a picnic, because Blaine was pretty sure Kurt would be into stuff like that, and the happier he got Kurt, the quicker Kurt would pull down his pants, and then everybody wins!

Except Kurt would only be a champion for a little while. Then Blaine would kill him and Kurt wouldn't be able to win anything.

Blaine actually finds himself frowning about it. If he killed Kurt, then Kurt couldn't be on Broadway.

But Kurt really liked Broadway.

But he didn't give a fuck about what Kurt liked.

But _he_ liked Broadway, and Kurt would probably be really good at it.

They'd have to see.

Getting back to the picnic, it's important to note how much Blaine hates anything that would be found on the cover of a Hallmark card. That includes cuddling, making sloppy snowmen, and picnics.

So it's really not fair that Kurt didn't at least stick his hand down his pants.

Then again, maybe he might have, were it not for those bastards from Mc fucking Kinley.

Blaine had gotten Kurt to a point where he'd hold hands without getting all giddy, and exchange kisses on the cheek. It wasn't up to his standards yet, but still it was progress.

He'd even had his arm around Kurt's waist, which is probably a gateway to cuddling, but he was already on the goddamn picnic so he didn't have too much to lose.

Except his cool.

He sort of lost that a little.

Again, it wasn't Kurt, no; Kurt was actually not terrible company.

He did seem to attract complete jackasses though. It wasn't much really; a few jocks came by and just _had_ to make some comments. It was irritating, and Blaine would have twisted their necks, but they were in a public park and a playground was right over the hill.

Kurt, however, had no problem telling them to piss the fuck off, albeit in a way that involved less swearing.

Oh, they got mad. Mad jocks become violent jocks.

And Blaine had to get them before they messed up his blanket trying to get to Kurt. It wasn't difficult; you knock a couple of them down and the rest get discouraged and leave. They think it's better to make excuses and never have a go, than to try and fail against the gay kid.

And a little gay kid at that.

They left and he exhaled, kind of in the mood for chopping something off of someone. When he turned around, Kurt was right there, staring at him in shock.

It would have been so easy.

He sat back down, deciding to be a good boy and finish his sandwich instead of cutting designs into Kurt.

"I'm sorry."

Those were Kurt's words, and Blaine had never been so surprised.

"Why? You didn't do anything."

"You shouldn't have to deal with them. They'd have left you alone if it weren't for me."

Blaine has never apologized for something he didn't do. He's never apologized sincerely, either.

No, that's not true. He really meant it when he told Cooper he was sorry for cracking one of his cheekbones with a hammer.

"I can hurt them for you," he says without thinking.

_God fucking damn it._

"I mean, rough them up a little, just to deter them from messing with you."

_It's really the least I can do. You should get to be happy before you die. You deserve it._

He doesn't get a quick response.

"I'd just be doing it to protect you. I like you."

Oddly enough, he thinks that only the first half of that was a lie.

When he glances over at Kurt, he sees something he hadn't expected.

Kurt has on the smallest of smiles.

* * *

**AN: And so begins their epic love story. Muffins are always a way to start a good date. (Ha! Like I'd know.)**

**Also, I love Cooper, thank you and good night.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I am so pissed off, you don't even know. I had a mass update planned and mostly completed, but no, my computer had to shut down and autosave did not do its damn job and anyway this is all I can offer at the moment. I'd had more of this, and a chapter for both Perfect and Little Red, and god damn it, I had been so pleased with myself.**

**On the upside, I do think I like this a bit better than what I had before, length aside. There is a flashback randomly thrown in somewhere in the middle, but I trust that you're all smart enough to figure out which one I'm talking about so that I don't ruin it.**

* * *

Blaine often dreams of the future when he's alone in his cell at night. He gets his own because the public was scared for the other inmates, and when you think about it, that's kind of nice. This way, nobody has to worry about getting strangled in their sleep, at least not too much.

His dreams aren't what he imagines most would expect from him. There's sex, hot and dirty and with Kurt screaming for him, yes, but there are slow thrusts and clasped hands and soft smiles shared in a soft bed while the profess their love in the middle of the day.

He's not sure what it means; he confuses himself when Kurt's involved.

He'd ask Kurt, but if he told him then the other boy might start getting expectations of sweet, romantic times, and Blaine doesn't want that. No, it's better to treat Kurt the way he already does. If he doesn't assert his control, then Kurt will start filling his head with silly notions of communication and feelings talk and equal grounds and all sorts of inefficient things.

He will not fuck everything up by letting a few dreams make him question things. He can save any weaknesses for once they're settled in Italy.

This particular dream is one of the gentler ones. They've made love, but now they're cuddled and freshly showered, just waking up from a quick nap.

It's relaxing. Everything is soft and warm. Blaine kisses Kurt's cheek

"Blaine," Kurt mumbles, soft and still half asleep. "When do we get to be happy?"

"What do you mean?" He asks, his soft, loving, Kurt voice riddled with confusion. "Kurt?"

"When do we get to be happy?" Kurt repeats. "You promised that, one day, we'd get to just be together and live like we want. You said you'd make sure of it."

"I am making sure of it," Blaine says, and to be honest he's a little upset that Kurt's bringing it up now. He's got plans. Kurt knows that and while it's understandable that he might become a little insecure, he could have the tact to leave it alone or ask about it in a different way. The other boy is usually so good at talking to him and not causing him to feel like an inadequate piece of absolute shit.

"Are you?" Kurt questions, frowning at him. "Am I really your number one priority?"

"You're my only priority."

"Then why bother with such show? Why isn't it enough for you just to be with me?"

Blaine doesn't answer, because he can't. He sits up when Kurt slips out of bed. He notes that the boy is clothed. He hadn't noticed before.

Kurt heads for the door, and that's when the panic starts trying to claw its way out."

"Kurt?" he asks, gritting his teeth at the fearful tone his voice takes. "Where are you going?"

"You're never going to put me first, Blay, and we both know it."

"You're my everything," Blaine chokes out, his throat constricting in horror. Kurt looks at him, resolute for once. "I love you."

He never says that seriously, not unless he's being bombarded with emotion, and that's happened maybe twice in the past three years.

"I can't wait forever, Blaine."

Kurt smiles at him sadly and walks away.

Blaine launches himself out of the bed, becoming entangled in the sheets and falling to the floor. It's hard concrete now, no longer the plush carpet he'd long ago decided to get installed in their future home.

It takes him a minute to realize that it was all a dream.

He has tears rolling down his cheeks, just a few, and that pisses him off more than anything. What if someone walked by right now? His reputation would fly away from him in a heartbeat.

Tomorrow is Tuesday, and he hopes Kurt is ready, because he's been hit with a brand new wave of determination.

That boy will be bruised for months.

* * *

Kurt has the house to himself for the whole night. This never happens, not since Blaine.

If his father knew it was happening, then he'd have put a stop to it, but he had been the first to go. There was a business meeting/car show in Columbus that he only agreed to attend because Finn and Carole would be home to keep an eye on him.

Kurt prays that nothing bad enough happens that could cause conflict between his father and step-mother. He knows Carole feels guilty enough for leaving to cover a night shift at the hospital, but if she didn't then people could potentially die.

He doesn't want to, but he chuckles humorlessly at the idea of him worrying about that. He doesn't want people to die, no, but he's certainly proven himself to be selfish enough to overlook it if it would get in the way of something he wants.

He doesn't want Blaine, he reminds himself; he needs Blaine and he needs that special kind of love they have. Blaine said so, and he's the biggest liar Kurt's ever met, but he's also somehow the most honest, or at least the most bluntly insightful.

They think it's because he's so detached that he can see and simplify life and human nature the way he does.

But Carole is gone, and Finn left shortly after. Kurt wouldn't blame him if it was for something stupid like a keg party, but from what he'd caught of the bigger boy's phone conversation, Puck has a little brother and the kid fucked up something awful.

Kurt wonders if, were the boy to get locked up, if anyone would take comfort in a promise for Blaine to look after him.

Probably not, but Blaine would do it anyway if either Kurt or Puck asked. He liked Puck, not to the point that he'd feel more than mild disappointment if the older boy died, but enough to do a favor if it wouldn't be terribly inconvenient.

But Finn is gone, and he left with a regretful look on his face, but Kurt couldn't be more relieved to be alone. He has the freedom to pull out his secret stash and make use of it, to pretend that Blaine isn't on some moldy cot where he'd look so out of place that the thought is enough to make Kurt gag.

Blaine is the type of guy you picture to be on a family yacht with a sweater wrapped around his shoulders and a glass of wine raised to his blindingly white smile. He's not the over-muscled, tattooed, spitting thug you picture when you see the word 'inmate'.

Kurt pushes those thoughts away. Tonight, he's going to pretend like the last few months never happened and he's just made it home after a wholesome day with his boyfriend. He's got their pictures on his bedside table, their September scrapbook open on his desk, and Blaine's favorite sweater on his body.

He goes back to a day when they'd been out at the mall, making use of the new, Halloween-themed stores. He remembers the way Blaine couldn't decide if he'd rather be a knight or a dragon.

He could never make a decision and stick with it, so they mostly played around with various props and debated what Kurt should dress up as. Blaine let him ramble, only ever joining in with a 'that wouldn't do your body justice' or a 'your father would never let you out or the house, and I would never let you out of my sight'.

His confidence can skyrocket when Blaine's around. Even when he isn't, he makes Kurt feel gorgeous. It's hard not to feel desirable when someone spends ridiculous amounts of money to dress you up simply for viewing purposes, and from prison no less. Blaine says that just the thought of him alone in the outfits he sends is enough for him.

He'd have put something on, but on the off chance that the house catches on fire and he has to be rescued by the Lima Fire Rescue Squad, he doesn't. The last thing he needs is to be seen on his front lawn in a miniskirt.

It'd probably end up in the papers, since he's become Lima's little headline darling ever since Blaine…

No, he wasn't thinking about that.

It's so, so hard to keep himself from going down that road, though. The thought of his boyfriend in jail is gut-wrenching for the wrong reasons; he's not as upset that Blaine's a murderer as he is that he's back to being alone.

He's a selfish piece of shit and he wishes Blaine would have just fucked him and killed him like he'd first wanted.

Kurt closes his eyes when the things he felt the moment he learned of Blaine's original intentions come rushing back. Blaine fell in love with him. The boy who couldn't even begin to care if an orphan was shot dead right in front of him had fallen for one Kurt Hummel, enough to risk exposure by both killing for him and letting him live. He was the only person Blaine truly, really, whole-heartedly and to the best of his ability, loved.

And he can't imagine anything that would make him feel more special.

He ends up falling asleep hours later, with tear tracks down his face and a make-shift gag stuffed in his mouth.

* * *

"Blaine," Kurt gasps, breathy and hot against his own chest. "Blaine, please."

Blaine pretends to ignore him, opting instead to keep his eyes glued to his favorite knife as he polishes it. He's listening intently, of course, but Kurt can't know that. It'd ruin the allusion.

"Blaine," he hears from across the room. "My arms hurt."

"You should have thought about that before you went to lunch with that _child_." He turns around as he snarls the word. "Chandler, was it?"

"You know damn good and well what his name is," Kurt says through his panting. "You probably have his social security number by now."

Blaine stops himself from smiling. Kurt knows him so well.

"Why were you with him?" Blaine asks, face kept blank. "You knew I wouldn't like it."

Kurt doesn't answer, not that Blaine had expected him to, so he walks up to his boyfriend and presses in close with his knife still in hand.

"It's because you want to be here, tied up in a fucking basement with your serial killer boyfriend. You'd lead some poor boy on, just to get yourself in trouble." He smiles and drags the knife back up until it rests at Kurt's throat. "And they say people like me are messed up."

Kurt's eyes are purposely avoiding him. He licks his chapped lips.

"Can I have some water?" he asks quietly.

Blaine smiles at him and takes the knife away from his neck, licking at the tiny, tiny cut he'd left behind. He reaches up and brushes Kurt's sweaty bangs away from his face.

"It's okay to want it, Kurt," he says gently. "This is just one of the many reasons we're perfect together, you know?" He ignores the way Kurt swings a little when he wraps his arms around his waist, coming in to let their foreheads touch. "I finally found someone I can love, and you finally found someone who'll take care of all of your needs. It's perfection."

Kurt doesn't respond, but Blaine doesn't really mind. He knows it took him awhile to get over trying to fight his desire to chop people up, and that was just because he didn't want to muck up his future with a bunch of legalities. Kurt actually has the capacity to care about whether he's a bad person or not, so it's probably even harder for him.

"Please take me down," Kurt whispers. Blaine sighs, because even though he understands, he wishes Kurt would just let go and submit to what they both want.

But he takes him down anyway. He rubs up and down Kurt's arms once he's unhooked, and he gets him water while Kurt gets comfortable on the bed. Kurt doesn't say much, just a quiet 'thank you' when Blaine hands him the glass.

Blaine gets on the bed and Kurt puts the glass to the side, and wordlessly they wrap around each other.

_It's going to be okay, baby._

_I'm going to end up like you._

* * *

Blaine spends the night tearing his sheets into little strips and tying the most elaborate knots he can come up with. He's pretty sure he's invented a few that would make an Eagle Scout cry in frustration.

He can't have Kurt while he's in here, so this is the best he can do to calm himself down. He realized early on that he'd begun making an entire set adjusted perfectly to loop around Kurt in various places, and he hasn't been trying to fight it. He briefly considers carrying these along when he leaves this place, but he wouldn't need them to get Kurt to come along, and everyone who's not in denial knows it.

Kurt might be glad if he did it though. He likes when Blaine forces him into things, because then he gets what he wants while rationalizing that he had no choice.

It can get a little complicated, but anything to keep Kurt happy is something he'll do.

When the sun begins to rise he stuffs his collection into the mattress and throws the other bits of sheet around so that the dumbass guards won't notice that half of it is missing.

He's lucky tomorrow's Tuesday, because he probably isn't getting a new bed set.

Sandy Ryerson better have done his damn job.

* * *

**AN: A bit shorter than usual, but I do actually like it. I like all of you as well; you're very encouraging and I appreciate it.**

**Do you want more focus on the mental aspects of Kurt and why he's with Blaine? I find Blaine less depressing to write for the most part, because he's a sarcastic little fuck and that speaks to me on a personal level known as my sense of humor, but Kurt is obviously just as important a character and probably even more interesting.**

**It's just kind of sad, so I wonder if anybody has a strong opinion in regards to that.**

**Also you could check me out on Tumblr, where I am captaineyebrows. I'm so fucking pleased with myself for that name and my icon is comedic gold I tell you.**


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